How Peeta was lost: An Avox Memoir
by Kida Lydianna
Summary: What Peeta suffered in the Capitol following the Quarter Quell. Through the eyes of Lavinia, the red-headed Avox, see how much of himself Peeta lost. And how much of him remains. Till her last breath, Lavinia will do all in her power to protect the boy.
1. Chapter 1

_( Spoiler Alert)This is the collection of events that Peeta went through when captured by the Capitol. It also reveals how he became hijacked. It also fills in the gaps of what we dont know ( like how Peeta was rescued by Gale and the rest of the rebels) and what sort of things go on in his mind and the people surrounding him. None of this belongs to me. **All this belongs to Suzanne Collins, **the genius behind the world of Katniss Everdeen. _

Chapter 1.

( Lavinia's point of view)

I am watching the Quell on my tiny, static filled television. If I am caught, I will be punished. I sit on my rusty springed bed, the volume on the T.V. up as loud as I dare turn it. My fingers are crossed and my eyes are glued to the screen. 'Y_ou can survive , Katniss.'_ I think.

The Quell started yesterday, and I've seen as much as I could without getting caught. Nobody needs to be waited on once the games start to develop, they're too caught up in the action to realize they need anything else from the help.

The capitol officials are for once happy with what they have, at least for a little while. So whenever it's aired publicly, I tiptoe in and observe. I can't watch during my working hours. In fact, I'm not even aloud in my own room during the day time. I get five hours a night in my own space, that's it. Then, before dawn, I rise and tend to guests. Every day. No exceptions.

Year's ago, I would be disgusted with myself for watching the games just because I wanted to on my free time. But there are things I just need to know. I need to know how Katniss's terrible situation works out.

I can't explain why, I just feel a need to watch over her. Make sure she has the best future she can obtain. And I do everything in my power to do what I can to help. Even just the little things, like tucking her in at night.

In the 74th games, I understood that Katniss was pretending to be in love with the boy so both could return home. But the more I watch now, the more I doubt her negligence toward his love. I am almost positive she's falling for him right here in the Quell. How else would you explain the way she cried when he was electricuted?

But I think she first starts to realize it when he gives her a pearl. I feel a pang in my chest as I watch them. This new development of her feelings, it would only encourage her to save his life. And I think Peeta knows it too. I think he can tell by the way she had looked at him afterwards. I can. I feel sad for him, for Peeta, I mean. I know Katniss will succeed, she's so strong. I would not be surprised if Peeta won. But he'll be lost forever if he's by himself.

So when the fireworks come, I know what happened. I'm not an idiot. She blew the arena up, creating the perfect time for the Rebels to make a pickup. Peeta was not rescued by the same claw as Katniss.

As it happens on screen, I know Peeta is falling into the hands of the President. I don't know the rebel's plan, and I doubt Katniss or Peeta know anything. Peeta will be tortured, that I am sure. I become a little numb as the fact seeps into me. And he doesn't know a thing.

I can hear commotion in the halls in the President's mansion where Darius and I are currently working. The T.V. screen goes blank and I rush out of the door and sprint to the main kitchens. I start to help Edna, my roommate, bang pots and pans around and act like I have been here the whole time.

Edna signs that Darius was called to the airlift some time ago. Her hands flash again._'Probably making the final sweep.' _The final sweep? Oh, she means they've finished the Hunger Games. Snow probably told the public Peeta won. But Edna and I know better. Now all three remaining tributes will be captured.

_'I don't know what they need him for, but I'm glad, because when he comes back he will write down every single word that was spoken.' _Edna signs again, a smug look on her face. This is true, his words will be passed around us Avox's like wildfire.

That's what happens when you lose your voice. Your ears become talented and you pick up every bit of information that travels through the air. If we could speak, oh, the gossip you would hear.

Instead, we share large bits of information on the slips of paper that we all keep in our uniform breast pockets. It's hard to describe too many things with sign language, it takes too long and gets complicated. We usually pass the slips around when we're nearby fireplaces. This way, we can easily burn the messages that are top secret. You _never_ just throw them away. That's practically Avox taboo.

It's a terribly long wait for any news about the tributes, so I scrub stainless steel and sweep tiled floors to pass time away. Edna starts to hum, and this calms me down somewhat. But my imagination runs over the worst possible scenarios that those kids could endure.

So finally, much later in the evening , Darius enters the kitchens. His eyes wide, his fingers twitching over the secrets in his hand. Like usual, he walks directly over to me.

My teeth are practically chattering with nervousness as I edge over to the closest oven. I roll open the slip, and duck my head as I read his small, block like writing.

_Peeta, Enobaria, and Johanna are picked up by hovercraft claw._

_One cell on craft . Guards with machine guns leading them to cell._

_I'm to serve President and party while they talk over next moves._

_Gamemakers look furious, Snow cold and passive. _

_Notice Plutarch Heavensbee is missing, mentors have been arrested. No one has seen Haymitch Abernathy._

_When president asks me to leave conference room, I sneak to prison ward._

_All three tributes are being pushed around in single cell. Johanna is spitting insults at the guards. _

_Enobaria bares her teeth, she is practically growling. Peeta is silent and pale. Tears present in his eyes._

_Johanna screams and continues to spit at the guards. N__o one is questioning them about the explosion, just leaving _

_them there to worry for the time being._

_Until hovercraft stops, district four, Annie Cresta is led into cell, something is wrong with her._

_Guards leave all four in cell, Peeta begins to talk to Annie,trying to comfort. She is in hysterics. Other's are picked up, _

_I do not know who they are._

_I am called to serve drinks to guards, I wash and reload their guns for them._

_Snow has come to decision, but does not enter cell. _

_We land in capitol, all four are led to mansion basement, people are waiting for them._

_As entering air hangar, bombers are leaving , I can guess where to._

District 12. They're bombing it. I keep my eyes on Darius while the slip is passed around the kitchens, he looks shaken, but he's keeping himself together. All Avox's learn to never lose control, a nervous or annoying Avox can get you whipped.

No matter how much a message might affect an Avox, we take it quietly and passively. You wouldn't even notice such a message was being passed along given how diligently we work and read.

When it has traveled a full loop around the kitchens, Darius crumples it up and throws it into a brick oven. We both watch it light and sizzle, until it's only a pile of ash.

We make a quiet oath to ourselves. For Katniss Everdeen, we will watch over Peeta Mellark, and help him behind the scenes. After all, watching over those kids are the only thing we, on our own accord, can choose to do.

* * *

><p>They come in the middle of the night. I am stuck in twilight, drifting between consciousness and dreams, when my door bang's open. My roommate, Edna, whose hair has turned white with skaky age, wakes with a guttural shriek. When she catches sight of the guards with machine guns, she collapses back onto her bed as they snatch me out of bed and drag me away.<p>

I can't help but wonder if she has died from fright, but then as Avox, maybe playing dead was her only form of defense. And it all happens because Darius and I served Katniss and Peeta on their way to the Games.

The unfairness of it all hits me. Unspeakable anger boils my blood as they roughly shove me down hallways until we see another group of guards in front of Darius's dorm. We just stare at each other, Darius and I. Tears in both of our eyes as they slap on our handcuffs and walk us to the basement.

What will they do to us? We'll be whipped, certainly. Taught a lesson or two. But they won't kill us, will they? Grief is what hit's me then. And pain. I find that I don't want to die. Which is surprising, given my hellish circumstances. No, what I want is to protect the Mellark boy. But then, what could I do, really? Sneak him extra meals during the night? I suppose I could have dispensed pain killer's with his food after a particularly gruesome torture session. Given he gets any meals. Or breaks from torture.

I was certain I could have helped him. Hopelessness covers me as I realize I cannot help him if I am a prisoner myself. Why didn't I see this coming? It was my last wish, to help the boy. The last choice of my life. The last possible action that was completely mine. My last chance to help Katniss Everdeen.

We're led down a winding staircase, since Avox's cannot use elevators even under captivity. Our escorts have their guns jabbed into our backs. We're barefoot, both Darius and I. And the metal staircase freezes my toes. The lower we go, the colder it gets. I can see my breath in the air. Darius has it worse. He has only worn shorts to bed, while i'm dressed in full pajama pants and shirt.

When I hear a blood curdeling scream down below us, I go into some sort of daze. My senses become sharpened but clouded at the same time. I find I can only concentrate on certain things.

Like how cold and tight the handcuffs are around my wrists. How my legs are tired from walking down so many steps. The round tip of a machine gun that leaves imprints on my skin directly between my shoulder blades. Darius's teeth chattering. Bluish lights flickering on and off. And screams, so many screams.

My blood feels frozen, like a robot being pushed and shoved down a mountain. Like all my joints are stiff and old.

_'This is fear.'_ I think. Pure, excruiciating, paralyzing fear. I've only experienced fear like this once before. But visions of green forests, Capitol hovercrafts and spears only make matters worse.

A small, hurting noise escapes me. And then I am angry with myself. I want to be brave, I want to show how the Capitol can't break me. Like Katniss.

Like how she looked bored as they led her to her first Games. I want to be strong like Katniss Everdeen.

But fear can be so _painful._ Like fire has somehow been embodied and slipped into your veins. A burning riptide cascading over your limbs.

Finally, we've reached the bedrock of Snow's mansion. Instead of steel, my feet graze slippery cement. There is a long hallway, it's dark, save for the lights on the machine guns the guards carry. But at the end of the hallway, there's a door with a glow seeping through its cracks.

One guard opens it, and inside the lights are so intensely bright I feel the urge to squeeze them shut. Instead, I force my eyes wide open as we enter and pass a magnitude of cell blocks. One holds Johanna, she is the one screaming, the second holds a person who is on their knees, their hands cradling their head. Enclosed in the third one is Peeta Mellark.

He is not screaming, he is not holding his head, and he isn't altogether crying . He stands, his body pressed up against the bars of his cell, fingers gripping them tightly. He is peering out, though his eyes are dilated wide with fear. In a panicky way, they swivel back and forth.

As we pass him, the guards seem to make sure he sees Darius and I. As Peeta's eyes land on me, they squint and then widen again in anger and sadness. He swallows, and then looks behind us. When I turn to follow his gaze, I just catch a glimpse of more captives before a guard with exceptionally large hands grips the top of my head and yanks it forward. They are dressed in extravagant sleep clothing with tattoos and lovely hair styles. They are surely from the Capitol, and they're openly wailing. I quickly place them as the tribute prep team.

_'They're taking us all." _I think to myself. And suddenly I feel so heartsick I look out the corner of my eye to find Darius for some sort of comfort. He is pale, and his shoulders have slumped forward in defeat. He looks at Peeta, his eyebrows knit together with frustration and anger.

I get one last glance at Peeta before we pass him. I see his eyes, remarkably blue in this glowing light. They are full of sorrow. But the look I give him is not angry like Darius's. Mine is kind and loving. Even one that says, '_It'll be alright.'_ Even though we both know it won't. And as we're being bulldozed into another room, I make another promise to myself. _Peeta Mellark, despite our predicaments, I will help you. _


	2. Chapter 2

_I don't own any of this! All belongs to the lovely Suzanne Collins! Happy reading!_

Chapter 2.

Someone once told me that you don't need your words to say how you feel. A look, a touch, an action can speak louder than any sentence. Oh, how this is true. Here in this nightmarish pandemonium, not a word is spoken, and yet full conversations pass through Darius and I. Our fingers slowly forming meanings, our eyes make our points for us.

We talk, just talk. About home, about who we used to be. And it helps. It calms me down. He tells me about his family, I tell him about mine. He tells me they're all dead. I tell him mine are too. Darius say's he's worried about Katniss. I tell him I am worried about Peeta.

The room we are in is entirely made of cement. The door even, is a thin sheeting of the stuff. It slides open on wheels, with a small, bite sized window that someone looks in every few hours. It is perfectly square, with one light bulb. Darius and I are both sitting with our backs pressed up against separate walls.

We have been told that they will fetch us when it's our turn. Our turn for a whipping? Our turn for a talking to? Our turn to die. So when the screams start I do nothing but examine my finger nails, emotionless.

Time passes slowly, our talking cut off by the screams. And all I can think about is blue, sorrowful eyes. Eyes that are searching for help. Eyes that must have looked so similar to mine when my life fell apart. How anguished, how fearful I felt. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I am driven to help him.

But I can't. Not when "my turn" is just around the corner.

So when my time is up, the face appears in our window, and the cement door slides open. A Peacekeeper enters with a small camera and two sets of uniforms.

He throws the sets of clothes at us. After all, it isn't proper to serve half naked. Darius and I take the uniforms, they're all black with the capitol seal on them. I feel an urgent need to burn them.

I guess we're supposed to change right here and now because the Peacekeeper just stares at us expectantly. He sighs and turns his back when Darius gives an impatient huff. Weird. We change as quickly as we can, and when we're finished Darius clears his throat.

The Peacekeeper flips and nods at the remaining camera in his hand. "The boss wants it taped. Your going to be the one who shows the whole city."

He walks closer to me, his arm outstretched towards mine. Thinking he's giving it to me, I reach out to take it from him when his other hand shoots out and grips my elbow, yanking me forward.

With a shriek I start to pull away, but the giant brute of a man drops the camera and uses his open hand to capture my other side.

"You're mighty good lookin' for a traitor." He purrs. Darius seems to shuffle uncomfortably on his feet, wanting to help me but afraid for himself with such a large man. Once you adopt the Avox attitude, it's hard to change your ways.

I grind my teeth as he pulls me closer to him, his fingers swiping my hair. His breath reeking, he whispers something into my ear.

"What did you say your name was again?"

Oh. He's making fun. When I say nothing, he breaks into a grin.

"What was that sweet cakes? Don't think I can hear you. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?"

The peacekeeper bursts into a wheezy laugh as I yank myself away from him, rubbing where his fingers left marks. He's slapping his knee now and guffawing at himself. He's disgusting. He picks up the camera and shoves it back into my arms.

He gestures us to follow him out, still laughing. "You two won't give me much trouble will ya? Don't need any backup security to keep you from running?" Darius grumbles at him but starts to follow after.

The peacekeeper leads us out of our cement hell and down a separate hallway that I hadn't seen last night. It's narrower, with wooden floors that creek as you walk.

This is strange. You almost never see real wood in the capitol. Everything is usually manmade. It feels nice on my bare feet.

"You two will be getting used to this, running errands and such for loyal people like me." Big guy says, jamming a thumb at himself. "In between your sessions, of course."

My eyes widen as I drink this in. Sessions. Meaning...torture sessions? And they still expect us to serve. Of course, this is what the Capitol thinks I deserve. This is what we deserve for serving rebels; this is what Peeta deserves to have on his conscious.

There are multiple doorways in this ancient hall, I counted ten on each side. Our guide leads us through one on the left. Inside there is is a small rectangular room, I almost give a sigh of relief when I realize it's heated.

On the left wall, there is all sorts of electrical plugs with beeping noises and lights emanating from it. The right wall isn't really a wall. It's made of glass. You can see what's on the other side, which is another cement room but more filthy. And in it is a single wooden chair with leather straps on its arms. Sitting in the chair is Peeta Mellark.

His arms are bound by the straps and his head is down, shoulders hunched, defeated. What looks like a spotlight is lighting him up, so that the four men and one woman that are sitting at the desks on our side of the glass get a good view.

Apparently, Capitol officials actually _enjoy_ watching people being tortured. Most capitol citizens aren't like this. They don't enjoy this. But then I have to stop myself, because they do enjoy the Hunger Games, and what's the difference really? It's surprising how quickly I have start to separate myself from Capitol citizens, saying _they,_ instead of _we. _

As we enter, they give the Peacekeeper a silent nod, and all but one goes back to watching. The woman gets up and walks over to me. She tells me I will be entering the room holding the rebel, and I will be capturing every word, every look or emotion that Peeta feels.

A feeling of dread seeps into me. I don't think I could watch anything happen without wrenching all over the place. Not in person. Besides, why am _I_ taping it? Shouldn't an actual camera man take care of it? But then, what decent person would actually take the job, and better yet, who would without _telling_ anyone. That has to be it. Make the Avox do the dirty work; we wouldn't want any rumors spreading around now would we? Ha.

The woman has blond hair pulled back into bun; she's dressed in a tight black business skirt. Torture must be all in a day's work for her. She points to a small door near the corner of the glass wall. I realize that I'm scared, frightened. But when I pause to enter the cement cage, the peacekeeper raises an eyebrow at me and pulls his hand into a fist.

I swallow and shake. I count how many steps I have to take to reach the door, trying to keep my sanity. Once I'm inside, Peeta raises his head. His eyes settle on me, but then he closes them, and I can see the muscles in his jaw tighten and jump. His head falls back onto his chest. I glance at the glass wall, but instead I only see a reflection of myself. Oh, its an observing glass. Only they can see out of it.

A voice echoes through a speaker, the woman is telling me that I'm to stand silently in the corner of the room, flip on the hand held camera and record. Once I do as I'm told, things start to happen. I expected chainsaws, darts, knives, lighter fluid, anything but a hole in the right side wall containing a television. It's a micro thin, flat screen T.V. held by a robotic arm as it's lowered to Peeta's eye level. As it extends itself towards him it makes a small whirring noise and Peeta looks up. He does nothing when he sees it. But I do catch a glimpse of confusion in his eyes. When he hears me push the recording button he turns his head to view me in my corner. But I only pull the camera up to my eye and start documenting. If they see us interacting in any way, it will get us both punished.

The television screen turns itself on, and Peeta's head turns back in it's direction. It only shows a blue screen, a tiny hum of a machine working fills the deadly quiet room. Minutes pass and nothing happens, so I just keep recording. I'm startled when Peeta says something.

"So this is it? What are you going to do, televise me to death?"

What a stupid thing to say, is he trying to get himself killed? _Shut up!_ I scream at him in my head. _Don't say anything!_ Peeta is beginning to look so angry though, he must be having trouble keeping his tongue. But I can practically hear Snow's sneer to Peeta's comment, _'Is that a challenge?' _

Suddenly, the television screen bursts into life. And on it is the blond haired woman from the other side of the glass. All you see is a close up of her face, her cheek bones are high and round, giving her an intensely fake look. She smiles huge horse teeth at him.

"Hello Peeta." She says. He just stares. This doesn't seem to bother her though because she moves right along with the conversation.

"Peeta, do you know where you are?" Her voice is chipper and overly happy; it's even an extent for the Capitol accent.

"Hell." He responds roughly.

"Well, we're sorry you feel that way. But you are actually in a Capitol owned polygraphic facility! And we have very big plans for you today!" Ugh, she makes me sick. So I turn the camera so I can only see Peeta's responses, I can't bear to look at her face. But I can't stop my ears from hearing, so their conversation continues.

"First we will go through a series of questions. We expect that you will answer all questions honestly, and if you can't seem to remember the answers we have certain tactics to help you with your re-examination. Am I _crystal_ clear?" Peeta is silent, but then slightly nods.

"Splendid! Now, we will start with the simplest of questions. Question number one, at what age did you enter your first games?" Peeta pauses, as if he's trying to figure out why they would ask a question they already know.

"Sixteen." When he says it, a little light flashes from the top of the television screen. Its a light blue color and it shines in it's face and tiny dots are displayed over his facial features, drinking him in. It makes a small noise, and then a microscopic dial on the screen replays his words. You can hear it repeat his answer and save into a file bank. They are storing his every word. I know this because my first job after becoming an Avox was to sort through old files on the Capitol network of people who were alive and put it into the "recently deceased" file. I had become accustomed to the sounds the machine had made.

Next, the straps around Peeta's wrists start to vibrate and create a rhythmatic beeping. On the bottom of the television screen begins to show the up and down figures of a heart rate monitor. Oh, he's hooked up to a lie detector. Does Peeta know what those are?

"Fantastic! Now, on to question two. What was the name of the Head Gamemaker of the 74th Games?"

"Seneca Crane." Whir, beep, saved.

"Question three, what is the name of the Everdeen family's eldest daughter?"

Peeta sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. "Katniss."

"The name of District Three's male tribute in the Quarter Quell?"

"Beetee."

"The female tribute?"

"Wiress."

"Correct! At this point Mr. Mellark, we will be asking you questions about yourself. Think you can handle it?"

"Myself?" He asks staring up at her.

"Of course, on the very few things we _don't_ know about you, we would love for you to fill in the gaps!"

It's suddenly very quiet as Peeta is suppressed into deep thought. His foot begins to tap on the ground.

"Are you still with us, Mr. Mellark?"

"You don't know _anything_ about me."

At this point, I have to see her face, maybe I could catch a slip up, something that would get her punished. I swerve the camera so it also shows her face.

The woman raises her eyebrows at this. She smiles and seems genuinely pleased at his comment.

"On the contrary, we know you quite well Mr. Mellark."

"No, you know what you see on the interviews, or on the television screen. You don't _really _know me."

"You'd be surprised, Peeta. We have _very _detailed files on you, on your family as well. Actually, we also have files on all of your school friends."

On the television screen appears thumbnail photos of blonde haired children, their names labeled beneath them.

"We have records of all school grades and co-curriculars," as she says this, copies of report cards materialize. "We know everything Peeta. We know your favorite subjects and hobbies, which friends you favorite, details on your brothers and parents." A photo of two young adult males appear, both blond, one holding the other one in a headlock.

"We have all of your medical files, including your height and weight throughout your life. Including DNA samples and fingerprints of all your fingers and toes, your I.Q. and intellect... "

It seems as she says things, photos of what she is summarizing appear, and it is reminding me of lectures or informational documentaries I had seen while I was still in school.

"Of course, we know all about your love for Katniss, and how very real it is. But we've recently tried to look past the "Peeta who is in love with Katniss" and focus more on what makes you, you. For example, your favorite foods, which different scenarios in your life have upset and pleased you, how you greet people you don't know, which games you like to play, your hobbies..." Paintings show up on the screen. "We know your _character _Peeta."

At this point, photos of him, his family, and friends show up on screen. Peeta sitting at a cafeteria lunch table surrounded by blonde haired children, him playing soccer with his brothers, and the last one is a particularly invading photograph of his family eating dinner at a kitchen table. But the strange thing is all these photographs are at an awkward angle. As if someone had gone through great lengths to take these photos unnoticed. They practically scream "SPY".

"You are what we call an _individual._ Your hopes and dreams are not strangers to us. Our most prized file on you is a graph of your mental stability."

The capitol cares about individuality? This is so false and distorted from the truth, I almost forget to laugh.

"My mental stability?" Peeta asks.

"Your mental stability is, in a way, the way you perceive dark situations with a positive attitude, or how you handle things. If we threw certain situations your way, how would you deal with it? Some people have different stages where they just throw their hands up into the air and give up. But you, we've found, have a very high level of stability. You're reasonable and strong, you take things lightly, and you don't like to give up on things. So you see Peeta, we _do _know you."

"And mental stability is the most important block of information you have on me." Peeta mulls over quietly. He's confused with this whole thing, expecting to be tortured, he's being complimented.

"Did I properly respond to your comment?" Scary woman asks.

"These files you have on me, you have them on Katniss too, no doubt."

"Mmmhh, yes, if not more detailed."

"If you have such detailed files on people, including everyone they know, eventually you'd have files on all of Panem."

The woman laughs. "Now _that_, young man is a Capitol secret, my lips are _sealed._"

Peeta is twittling his thumbs. I can tell his resolve is disappearing. He knows he's been spied on. For quite some time it looks like too.

Peeta looks up at her. "These next questions...what happens if I can't answer them?"

Her smile drops, and her eyes show anger. "This."

Out from the same hole the television came from, a second robotic arm is whirring. It's gripping a sharp, rotating disk, similar to a saw, and its hurtling directly towards his face.


	3. Chapter 3

_All of this belongs to Suzanne Collins. I own nothing! Kudos to you Suzanne C!_

**Alright, so here's the third chapter. You know, this story is hard work! Something I didn't expect was all the research that had to be done. Looking through Mockingjay again and reading in between the lines for possible hints of what happened takes forreevverr. Also, analyzing Peeta's every word is a CHORE! But it's definitely worth it. WARNING! The beginning is kind of "blaaahhh" due to the grisly situation. Might as well get used the graphics though, this is still only the beginning. **

Chapter 3.

My blood seemed to freeze when the blade began slicing the top part of Peeta's right ear. The blade doesn't cut all the way through the cartilage, but when it stops what is left just seems to hang from the fibers of his lower ear. A strange thought had entered my brain at this point, '_Look how it dangles.'_

"Alright! I'll talk, I'll answer them!" His voice shook, scared now. Rivers of blood flowed down his neck, and he cupped his wound with his hands. Teeth gnashing and breathing ragged, he bent his torso over his knees.

Personally, I think he handled it well, better than I would have. He hadn't cried or made any noise when he first saw the blade. He just grimaced, like he had been expecting worse. How brave he was. I suppose bravery was something you gained after two Games.

Once the blade was safely back in it's hiding spot in the wall, I allowed myself to start breathing again. But my stomach still flopped like a fish out of water, envisioning what else was in the cement compartment.

The woman's face holds no emotion, it is blank when she says, "On to the next set of questions, then?"

But she doesn't ask anything until Peeta is sitting upright again, one arm still holding his ear, his fingers fidgety. I wonder if his ear has been chopped in half or if he's holding it in place, thinking it could somehow be saved.

"Well." He says through his teeth. "You can ask but I can't tell you a thing. I don't know what happened."

"But you don't even know the question yet." She replies. Peeta just shrugs.

"Very well. So you did not know that Katniss blew the arena up herself?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Katniss blew the arena up, with the wire and and the lightning tree."

Peeta's eyebrows pull themselves together.

"The explosion..." He doesn't bother to finish his sentence.

"Was _her_ fault."

"She didn't know, she doesn't know anything, just like me. Where is she? In another interrogation cell? That was the Capitol's hovercraft that picked her up, wasn't it?"

As he says it, his face shows that he already knows the answer. No, it wasn't. Besides, why didn't he ask about Katniss earlier? He must know she was picked up by the Rebels.

Peeta continues. "No it-"

"I can show you the evidence Peeta, we have the tape."

Peeta sighs. "Why didn't they take me, too? Aren't I important?"

She laughs. "Oh, my! They don't need you to win! Nobody needs _you._ You're just an extra, a third wheel, the unneeded surplus. You're just the poor boy that's in love with a girl who thinks nothing of him. They don't _care_ about you Peeta."

'W_ow,' _I think. '_I guess she finally decided to show her real personality.'_

Peeta growls at her. "Not true, Katniss is my friend, and I am hers. Haymitch is my mentor, he _owes me a favor._ He wouldn't forget me. It was a mistake is all. An accident, they simply hadn't enough time to-"

"Oh, please. Just watch the tape; they didn't even bother _looking _for you in the arena. It was a simple in and out accomplished mission. Now, watch."

Without leaving Peeta enough time to say anything else, a motion picture takes the place of her form. There is a close up of his face, his blonde hair shaggy and discolored from dirt. The scene pans out and Katniss is now taking up the screen. She's looking down at the District 3 tribute, Beetee. She seems to be putting things together, the wire, the knife, the chink in the force field...and all of a sudden a light bulb is lit in her mind. She connects the wire to her arrow, loads and shoots, and few seconds' later lightning strikes. _Boom._ Katniss is thrown back. The hovercraft comes and goes. The scene ends and Scary Woman is back.

"See? It was all part of the plan. Now, we are very off track here-"

"She didn't know what she was doing, she took all that time to figure out-"

"Interruptions are not _acceptable_! We have many methods to fix this behavior; do you need to be _corrected?" _

Well, that's one way to put it.

"No, I do not need to be _corrected." _Peeta spits with mockery.

Ever since the robotic blade, everything has gone downhill for him.

"Where is she, Peeta? What are their plans, Mmmhh? What is their next move? What are their base whereabouts?"

"I don't _know!"_

_"_Yes, you do! Katniss and your mentor knew! If he owed you something like you say he did, wouldn't he let you in on the plan?"

"Katniss knows nothing, merely a pawn. Same as I am! We were both used!"

"Torture is not below us Mr. Mellark! What is Katniss Everdeen's next move?"

"I told you! _I have no idea. _Katniss doesn't even know what's going on!" He's leaning forward now, his ear forgotten. His knuckles are white on the arm rest and his foot is tapping. I realize he's protecting her, making her seem like an innocent child who was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Neither of them says anything for a bit, they just stare each other down, frowning at each other.

The chair in which Peeta is sitting in quiet. It is silent as the grave, besides the rhythmic beating of his heart monitor. It has detected no lies simply because he _isn't lying._ He really doesn't know. Scary Woman knows this too, for she has gone quiet. Her lips pursed tight together, she eyeballs him.

"Very well," she looks down at her lap and her shoulders move. She must be looking at some sort of papers in her hand. "There is only one other thing left to do."

And then the T.V. screen goes blank.

"Ugh!" Peeta yells. He is frustrated, betrayed, alone, and frightened. His fists come crashing down on the metal arms. The electric black heart monitor groans in protest, and the screen begins to crack.

Peacekeepers come in then, they're armed and frowning. They unhook Peeta from the heart monitor and lead him out. What will they do to him? Torture him? Kill him? All of a sudden I am very afraid. But then I think about what they might do to _me. _I imagine myself somehow knocking all the Peacekeepers unconscious and dragging Peeta out of here. But instead I just stand still. This will be my protest: not moving. Eventually one of the Peacekeeper seems to remember me and gestures for me to follow. I don't move, my knees are locked, and my muscles are tight.

When Darius appears behind the Peacekeepers he glares at me, and cocks his head to tell me to come along. When I see that he's been beaten while I was filming, I lose all my resolve. One of his eyes is closed and black, but at least he can still stand and is conscious, and all of a sudden, my short lived rebellion spell is broken, and I follow them out with my head down. I am ready to meet my doom.

They have four Peacekeepers hovering over Peeta as they guide him through a door that we pass. Did I really expect they would keep us together forever so I can watch him? Of course not, that's just my wishful thinking talking.

I'm not even thinking about what sort of room we're led into when we enter. I'm too stuck in my own head to really see the small plateau and braided whips. I feel strangely numb as Darius and I are pushed down onto our knees and our hands are tied behind our backs. I don't even blanch when someone yanks my shirt over my head and onto the floor.

I can't see the black snack rise up into the air and crash down onto my skin, but I feel the scalding heat and freezing cold slash at me. My mind just soars to better days. To sweet, young, rebellious days thinking no harm can come to me as I am led mindlessly away from my home to places I only hope exist. I am naive, and oh, is it delicious.

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><p>After we're whipped, Darius and I are given back our shirts and a pair of black shoes. When my shirt is replaced on my back, it becomes soaked with my blood. I don't care, I did not deserve this, and in my own little world it didn't happen.<p>

Wordlessly, I am led back to my cement room. Immediately I lie down and shut my eyes, not bothered by the cold floor. I feel Darius sit beside my horizontal body, I feel his hand reach down and caresses my hair. I pretend I am another being, something that is not human. I become a kitten, a small, orange kitten that is being stroked by its owner. It feels blissful.

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, someone is making us leave again. We are told we are to serve meals to Peeta. It's just another room connected to our wooden hallway so Darius and I can easily come and go. It's small but clean, with a good sized bed, window, and a kitchen completed with a couch. I'm just glad he isn't being tortured. Until I think that he probably is; inside his own head, he is at war. He is wondering _why._ He is asking himself why he is stuck in this little room, trapped and unable to help. That is a torture within itself.

Darius shuffles into the small kitchen nook, but I stare at Peeta instead. He's sitting at a small table in the center of the room; his head is face down on the wood, with his hands splayed out in front of him. He doesn't move. I wonder if he's sleeping when he makes a small sobbing noise. I never was comfortable around people who were crying, so I rush to help Darius.

In the kitchen, Darius is fetching some sort of dish out of the refrigerator. Once I smell it I go berserk. I haven't eaten in days. Darius grabs a jug of milk and immediately begins to chug it while I head for the pantry. Cookies! Chips! _Cheetos._

And then we're stuffing ourselves, eating and drinking our fill. It reminds me of the first time I tried eating after my speechless punishment. With shaking fingers I had slowly slipped a grape into my jaws, chewed, and swallowed four times to get it down. Eventually I got used to it and ate slower than everybody else. But now, I swallow without chewing my food properly, and a couple times I almost choke.

I stop when I remember Peeta. I peek around the corner, my mouth still full. Guilt fills me up. I shuffle over to Darius and yank away his canned potatoes. I cock my head in Peeta's direction. Darius sighs.

We make him omelets. I set down a placemat and silverware, and Darius even lights a candle as a centerpiece. But Peeta does nothing when I tap his shoulder and slide the plate in front of him. He stares into space. All signs of tears are gone. I huff impatiently at him, but he still doesn't eat anything. I jab at him again, this time digging my finger into his shoulder blade. He doesn't flinch, but I feel a heat there, something rough and distorted. I realize he had been whipped, and I draw my finger back quickly. I don't touch him again, but I do kneel next to him on the floor. I pick up the fork and pretend like I'm going to eat it but pull back quickly like I've changed my mind. He falls for it and turns to me.

"No, you can have it. Go ahead and eat it."

I smile at him and give him a knowing look. I place the fork in his hand then pat my stomach to show that I am full, still looking smug. There, I got his attention.

"Oh," is all he says when he figures I did it on purpose. He turns back to his plate, and when he slides the egg into his mouth I do a silent cheer.

I don't even regret it once we're whipped for stealing his food.

* * *

><p><strong>There it is! Chapter three! Reviews are appreciated!<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Here's Chapter four! Please Review! It propels me to keep writing. So if put into a mathematical equation, it would be something like this: _Story + Reviews= More Story! _**

**Also...I'm always open to constructive critisism. Is s****omething not good? Tell me! Seriously guys... nothing really bothers me. For example, someone caught a type-o that my proof-reader and I didn't catch. Last chapter "the black snack" was supposed to say "black snake."(referring to the whip) But then I fixed it and changed it to "black rope" in case there still was any confusion. I guess my sister and I both read too fast to really catch anything. A Beta is in need now, I suppose. Anyways, I heart reviews! kaythnxbai. **

**_I do not own the Hunger Games. All belongs to Suzanne Collins. _**

**_HAPPY READING!_**

* * *

><p>Chapter four.<p>

I am given a schedule. When Darius brought an alarm clock into our room, I had eternally sighed. He had also brought our to-do written down on a piece of paper.

Each morning we are to wake at 4:30. Then, we cook and serve breakfast to Scary Woman and her groupies. This includes the three men that worked in the center where they interrogated Peeta, and all the Peacekeepers that patrol the prison. Next, we are whipped. They seem to favor that sort of torture down here. Usually it doesn't go above twenty licks, but being hacked on an old wound just draws more blood.

Then come the rounds. By this point, Darius and I are hunched over, our aching backs swelling and beginning to dispense puss. Each room in the Ground is to be washed. That's what they call this place. The Ground. It's fitting, I think. It's always cold with dim lighting, and you can hear moaning and the calling out of names every hour like clockwork from who-knows-where.

There are 56 rooms under the Mansion, not including the prison. Oh, we clean that too. After a prisoner dies, or is taken out of their iron cubicle for some reason or another, we spray it down with a hose and scrub it from top to bottom. The cells that are equipped with beds have to be aired out and sheets are to be washed. That part is my job. A large tub of ice water and soap was placed in our cement room complete with a washboard, and each night before I crashed onto my cot, I scrubbed the sheets until my fingers cracked open and bled.

After all of our cleaning is done, it's almost time for lunch. So we are herded into the Ground's kitchens and prepare the meals for all the guards.

And then we go to Peeta. We feed him, clean him, and fix the things that he had picked up and thrown. He does that alot actually. Once, I was making him his dinner when I heard a loud crash from the living space. He had picked up the two bedside lamps and thrown them into the wall. Some pieces of glass had lodged themselves into his palms and I spent the rest of the evening with a tweezers plucking them out of his flesh.

This goes on for three weeks. And as the days go by, I can feel Peeta's impatience and anger growing like a cancer inside of him. So I was somewhat relieved and confused when he was to be interviewed by Caesar flickerman.

It was a tuesday morning when I had entered his quarters to find him standing on a chair with his stylists surrounding him. I stared at them menacingly for a while before I retreated back into the kitchen nook. I peeked around the corner wall and strained my ears trying to listen to their conversation.

For once, Peeta looked shinier than his prep team. All of them were thinner, and their skin looked yellowish and sickly. All traces of their makeup and jewelry were gone. It was at this point that I looked down at myself. My hips didn't fill out the black pants like they did a week ago, and when I grabbed a frying pan out of it's cupboard and glanced on my face, I almost shrieked.

I looked worse then they did. At first, this bothered me. It made me wonder if I had caught some strange disease by the look of my tangled hair and bloodshot eyes. I barely slept at night, and my whip wounds were refusing to heal. Did stress affect how fast you could recover from an injury or sickness? If so, my death shouldn't be far away. I forced myself to forget about it, and turned my attention back to Peeta.

"President Snow wants to see you before." Portia says.

"About what?" Peeta asks.

"About what you're to say."

Peeta just cringes and laughs nervously. "I don't mind that."

But you can tell he does. This room is bugged. My cement room is bugged, even the prison ward has cameras in every cell. Everything he says can and will be used against him.

After they are done remaking Peeta, they lead him out. I consider following them, but decide against it. So I rush to one of the rooms that contain a television and start to sweep the floors. A half hour later, the black box bursts to life. Peeta is sitting on stage with Caesar, and I listen carefullly to what they are saying.

_"So...Peeta...welcome back." _

_"I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar."_

_"I confess, I did," says Caesar. "The night before the Quarter Quell...well, who ever thought we'd see you again?"_

_"It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure," says Peeta._

_"I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."_

_"That was it. Clear and simple. But other people had other plans as well."_

_"Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena? Help us sort a few things out."_

_"That last night..to tell you about that last night...well, first of all, you have to imagine how it felt in the arena. It was like being an insect trapped under a bowl filled with steaming air. And all around you, jungle...green and alive and ticking. That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people have died-some of them defending you. At the rate things are going, the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The Victor. And your plan is that it won't be you."_

I have to admit it. The kid is good with words. I stop sweeping and close my eyes, imagining the horrors perfectly in my head. Peeta continues.

"_Once you're in the arena, the rest of the world becomes very distant, all the people and things you loved or cared about almost cease to exist. The pink sky and the monsters in the jungle and the tributes who want your blood become your final reality, the only one that ever mattered. As bad as it makes you feel, you're going to have to do some killing, because in the arena, you only get one wish. And it's very costly."_

_"It costs your life." Caesar permits._

_"Oh, no. It costs a lot more than your life. To murder innocent people? It costs everything you are."_

"Everything you are, " _Caesar repeats_.

"_So you hold on to your wish. And that last night, yes, my wish was to save Katniss. But even without knowing about the rebels, it didn't feel right. Everything was too complicated. I found myself regretting I hadn't run off with her earlier in the day, as she had suggested. But there was no getting out of it at that point."_

_"You were too caught up in Beetee's plan to electrify the salt lake," says Caesar._

_"Too busy playing allies with the others, I should have never let them separate us!"_ Peeta lets this out in a rush, his emotions almost taking over. Oh, how he loves her. It reminds me of another man's love.

"_That's when I lost her."_

_"When you stayed at the lightning tree, and she and Johanna Mason took the coil of wire down to the water," Caesar clarifies. _

_"I didn't want to! But I couldn't argue with Beetee without indicating we were about to break away from the alliance. When that wire was cut, everything just went insane. I can only remember bits and pieces. Trying to find her. Watching Brutus kill Chaff. Killing Brutus myself, I know she was calling my name. Then the lightning bolt hit the tree, and the force field around the arena...blew out."_

We were back to this again? Peeta still believed she didn't do it? Frustration rises up inside me, but I shove it back down when I realize the emotion was aimed at Peeta.

"_Katniss blew it out, Peeta, you've seen the footage."_

_"She didn't know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee's plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire," Peeta snaps. _

_"All right, It just looks suspicious," says Caesar. "As if she was part of the rebels' plan all along."_

And then all of a sudden, Peeta is on his feet hovering over Caesar. Peeta looks menacing, something he can really achieve when he's upset.

_"Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing? She didn't know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!"_

I'm surprised when the nostalgia hits me then. A small aching in my chest, it softly awakens me from my numbness. He reminds me of him. Not in looks, but in the ways he acts, how protective he was of me. How he would do anything to bring me out of harms way. Oh, Katniss. Do you realize how loved you are?

"_Okay, Peeta. I believe you."_ He pushes Peeta away, unable to take his forwardness.

"_Okay." _

_"What about your mentor, Haymitch Abernathy."_

This question seems to have struck a nerve with him because his face goes hard.

"_I don't know what Haymitch knew."  
><em>

_"Could he have been part of the conspiracy?"_

_"He never mentioned it."_

_"What does your heart tell you?" _

_"That I shouldn't have trusted him. That's all."_

_"We can stop now if you want." _

_"Was there more to discuss?"_

_"I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you're too upset..."_

_"Oh, I'm not too upset to answer that."_ The next thing he says catches me off guard. But really, I should have seen it coming.

"_I want everyone watching-whether you're on the Capitol or the rebels side- to stop and think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that-what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?"_

_"I don't really...I'm not sure I'm following..." struggles Caesar._

_"We can't fight one another, Caesar," Peeta explains. "There won't be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn't lay down their weapons-and I mean, as in _very_ soon-it's all over, anyway."_

_"So...you're calling for a cease-fire?" Caesar asks._

_"Yes. I'm calling for a cease-fire," _He says this as if he's been thinking about the topic for quite some time. But I know he hasn't. In fact, I know he really thinks the exact opposite. This is what President Snow wanted him to say? President Snow wants a cease-fire?

_"Now why don't we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?"_

Or throw more furniture around.

I drop my broom where I stand and race back towards Peeta's room. It's almost time for lunch so I busy myself by making him grilled cheese when he comes in. He's boiling. He rushes right to the kitchen nook, grabs my pan from the stove and throws it at the wall.

"I can't do this! A cease- fire! Really? I would perfer the end of the human race! At least no one else could-" He cuts himself off then. His fists folded and knuckles white.

I consider backing away till his rage burns out. But instead of throwing more things he walks over to where the pan had crashed into the wall, the grilled cheese splattered on the wall. He peels off the slice of bread and throws it away.

Guiltily, he hands me back my pan.

"Sorry, I got carried away."

I shrug my shoulders and take out a new pan and more sliced bread. Peeta wearily sits down at the kitchen table.

He looks at me while I'm making him his food. Pain is across his face, and this makes me feel sad. I start to hum a tune my mother used to sing to me. Peeta just stares off into space and listens.

When it's done, I slip it onto one of the plastic plates and grab pickles from a jar in the fridge. When I was younger, this was my favorite meal.

When it's before him, Peeta looks curiously at it.

"I'm sure it's delicious, but if you don't mind me asking, what is this?" He holds up a pickle.

I fetch a napkin and a pen that I found in the silverware drawer. Carefully I spell out my answer.

_'That is a pickle.'_

"A pickle?" He confirms. I nod. To be honest, I'm not all that surprised District Twelve doesn't have pickles.

He puts it into his mouth.

After he chews a while, he says,"Sour...but good. It looks like a cucumber."

I nod and write, '_I love sour things.'_

_"_And this? This is cheese in between the slices?"

'Y_es, it's called Grilled Cheese. Another one of my favorites.'_

"Do you want some? You look more hungry than I am. Like you just got back from the Hunger Games, forced there by these wretched-"

Obviously all his anger hasn't diminished. I put my finger to my lips. A gesture that means '_Hush.' _Is it the same in his district? I guess it does because he stops and nods and says "Please, eat it. You need it."

I stare at it a while. I probably would be punished for devouring it. But then, I only get one meal a day. My stomach has been the most hollow that it has ever been in my life_. _

_'So this is hunger.' _I thought. _'This is what it's like in District Twelve.'_

Peeta slides the plate in front of me. The fumes intoxicate me and before I can think twice I'm scarfing it down, just like I did when I first came to Peeta's kitchen.

He looks satisfied when I've finished.

"Would you like to take a shower as well?"

Now, that would be pushing it. Besides, if Darius found out I had gotten lucky enough to come across a bath he would throw a fit back in our own room. I quickly shake my head. I point towards the ceiling corners, you can't actually see anything, but I am sure there are micro cameras hidden around somewhere.

Peeta gets it. "Yeah, I suppose. I just feel so guilty. The only reason you're here is because of me." He sighs, staring at the ground, his shoulders slumped forward in resentment.

I practically jump from my seat. I wave my hands in his face so he can see my disagreement. I whip out the napkin again.

'_This is not your fault. Only the Capitol's. You're just a pawn, like you said before.'_

When he reads it, you can see in his eyes when they soften that he appreciates my indifference. He looks up and smiles a little.

"Thanks, but that still doesn't get you and Darius out of here." Then we're both quiet while we sit at his kitchen table. It strikes me how strange it is to be sitting at a wooden table, under the President's Mansion, with Peeta Mellark as my companion.

I reach out my hand and rest it on his. I give him a look that says _'I regret nothing. And neither should you.'_

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><p><strong><em>There it is, Chapter four. Caesar's and Peeta's conversation is in Italics because the words aren't mine. It's from their conversation in Mockingjay. Remember to Review:) <em>**


	5. Chapter 5

**Loving the great comments guys! oh man, no idea people thought my story was so good , haha. Thanks for reading! I really like writing this story!**

**I don't own hunger games. Happy reading.**

Chapter 5.

Peeta convinces the Head Peacekeeper to let us use his shower, but only after our working hours. He had grudgingly allowed Peeta's stylists to clean themselves as well. It was like a holiday, we all took turns using Peeta's shower. I purposefully asked to be the last ones in so I could have the longest turn.

While in line, I watched Peeta sit at his kitchen table with a piece of paper and a pencil. When I remembered that he was an artist and painted things, I craned my neck over to see what he was drawing. On the white background sprang up a large tree, and at the bottom of the tree sat a tiny person. It was a girl with her dark hair in a long braid, and I smile when I realize he's drawing Katniss. Slowly, he fills in the rest of the picture. He adds a pig pen, a rainy sky, and the sketching of someone's outstretched hands near the bottom.

I open my mouth to tell him it's beautiful, but I catch myself immediately.

I'm dazed because that hasn't happened in years; the forgetting I can't speak. I find it usually occurs when I'm caught off guard, or see something that makes me lose focus and forget everything. Or something beautiful, like his drawing.

When I'm about to turn my head away, I notice Peeta's ear. I notice that it's perfect; you can't even see any stitches. I wonder if he got a new one altogether. It looks nothing like the sliced ear on the first day down here. Surely if the Capitol's doctors could replace a leg, they could replace an ear.

A very clean Darius taps me on my shoulder to tell me that it's my turn. I sigh when I turn the water on.

It's a heaven, an Elysium to be clean of the decay and death of the prisoners. I carefully massage my tender lower back, cringing whenever a particularly lacerated sting rears up. I detangle my hair and let it flow down my shoulders. I breathe happily. But my happiness is short lived.

It was actually the very word _happiness_ that made my joy disappear altogether as it ran through my mind.

Let me explain. Here I was, standing under a steaming shower while captured for torture by the Capitol. Their main captive has been given his own quarters and three square meals a day. I have been given a cot with meals and eventually this shower. We're not falling apart, and we are far from death.

Why are they not killing us? Why aren't they obliterating us completely and telling everybody about it to strike fear in their hearts? Why is this nonviolence so scary? This is not the usual Capitol behavior.

All of a sudden I am suspicious. It must be some sort of trick, the way their treating us. Get us to feel comfortable and more safe than not. Then, with a one tantalizing blow, explode us to smithereens. This thought ruins my shower.

That has to be it. Why else would they be treating us so well? Treating us good will not get them far in this war. Kindness will make them lose. It's the same strategy as making Peeta call for a cease-fire. Feign peace, wreak havoc.

My teeth start to grind themselves together, making my jaw ache. I've been doing that alot lately; shaving my teeth to lumps with all the stress I've been enduring. All this pain and fear. And now suspicion of an even greater hurt is being added onto my list of demons.

Someone knocks at the bathroom door and tells me my time is up. I turn off the water, towel myself and dress, my face set in a cold fixture. I had entered this heavenly euphoria a grateful woman, now I leave a suspicious servant.

Smelling of soap, Darius and I glide to our cement room only to find someone has given us each a pillow. Darius claps in joy but I stare at it in fear.

This is what the Capitol does to people; it makes them fearful of feather-stuffed sacks.

Darius doesn't seem to understand or care about the Capitol's sly motives to give us a little peace. I decide to give Darius a break and not tell him about my worries. After all, ignorance is bliss.

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><p>A few days go by. I work, I clean, and I worry. Every day I serve Peeta and secretly watch while he decorates his quarters with his beautiful sketchings. Katniss below the oak tree, Katniss firing an arrow from a bow, Katniss dancing in a red dress, Katniss and a young blonde girl embracing each other with happy smiles on their faces.<p>

But one day, he isn't there. I had come to make him lunch and sweep the floors when I noticed it. I had gone straight to the kitchen when I entered and began fetching a broom from the supply closet. I was still worrying about what could be coming in the near future that I didn't hear it right away; the nothing. There was perfect stillness. I held my broom still and quieted my mind, trying to listen for Peeta's anxious tapping of his foot, his pencil scratching on a sheet of pencil. But nothing came.

In the quiet, my heart seemed to scream. I imagined my mouth opening up and harsh words spilling out at the Capitol, I imagined myself personally grabbing Snow by his shirt collar and slapping him over and over again. I hadn't made a mistake, I knew. Peeta wasn't simply in the side bedroom, the apartment was small enough to hear everyone's breathing inside.

I drop my broom and run to the interrogation room. Darius is inside serving drinks to the frightening blonde woman and other men. I expected Peeta to be on the other side of the glass, but instead a young woman I place as Johanna sits in the lie detector chair.

I'm standing in the doorway when Darius and the officials look over at me expectantly, my arms gripping each side of the door panels. As calmly as I can, I walk to the table and help serve, ignoring the annoyed looks from the officials and curious ones from Darius.

With shaking hands I pour coffee and tea to the torturers. Gray faced, Darius and I watch as the interrogation room across the glass floods with water. Johanna screams and screams, but one of the officials mutes the microphone that echoes her voice into this room.

I don't look up until it's over, and once she's gone back to her cell, another Avox brings in a portable television.

The small screen airs a live President Snow, and somehow the officials can talk to the President through the television with some hidden speaker. It's like he was really there in person.

He talks to the blonde woman, and they discuss what has happened in these past few weeks. Peeta's innocence, his success with his interviews with Caesar Flickerman, the cease-fire, etc, etc. They begin to talk about Katniss and Peeta as if they are inanimate objects or vegetables to be cut up, dipped in sauce, and eaten.

Then they make plans on how to break Katniss.

Tears flow openly as I hear them say that Peeta is to be lost forever. He is to be tortured beyond recognition, because even President Snow has seen how much Katniss really loves him.

'_They are surely killing him_.' I think. '_Perhaps at this very moment_.' I look over to Darius to see that even he is holding back tears as he hears their plans. And he never even liked Peeta.

When I hear that something called Hi-Jacking is going to be used in the near future, I slam my tray of mini-dogs down.

I can't take this. These people...aren't even people. They are true monsters.

An angry official jams his sausage like fingers at my hysterical face.

"Leave! Now. Avox's are to be rarely seen and never heard! Go clean the empty prison cells!"

Good. Maybe they put Peeta in one. My stomach is in knots when I walk through the prison halls. Most of the prisoners are sleeping when I glance in their cells, but a few grip the iron bars of the swinging doors and stare at me with wide eyes.

But none of them are Peeta.

* * *

><p>That night, I learn where Peeta is. Actually, I hear where he is.<p>

He is inside a wall. My wall. On the other side of one of my cement side screens, must be a secret chamber. I think it's a chamber that is used for severe torture and mind corruption.

There is screaming. Lot's of it.

Darius and I cannot sleep. My heart breaks and Darius chews his fingernails to nubs from the insane screams coming from the wall. Every once in a while, you can hear robotic arms moving, television screens talking, blades whirring, water pouring, fire crackling, and bones snapping.

At one point I lean over my cot and hurl onto the floor at one of the noises. I try to reason with myself. Maybe that isn't Peeta in there, maybe it's another prisoner like Johanna or Annie. But the voice is male, and it sounds like Peeta's laughter, just twisted and darkened to an extreme.

Thankfully, in the morning the screams stop. When my usual waking time comes around, I rise up like a zombie and try not to slip on my own sick.

Immediately, I go to Peeta's quarters. I pray to a god I once heard about long ago that he is alive. And he is, when I first enter the room, I am glad to see him in his bed, but then my gladness disappears when I catch sight of his bloodied skin.

He is crying. I rush over to him and assess the damage that occurred last night.

His whole lower body is bruised, his toenails are broken and falling off his toes, both of his eyes are blackened and I think his wrist might be broken. There are lacerations on various parts of his body but most of the bleeding has stopped. It's not until I see the burn marks on his torso that I start to cry, too.

Through both of our tears, I hear him moan something.

"They're trying to make me hate her. I won't do it. I love her. I love her, Lavinia. They can never make me forget her."

So this is the thing. This is what I was afraid of. This is the sucker punch that is exploding us all into pieces.

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><p><strong>Voila! Chapter five. This is when things start to get dark. So hang in there with me. Review!<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Some typos were found, (i'm sure there are ALOT of typos) But i've found that even if I correct my mistakes on my computer multiple times it sometimes doesn't correct on everyone else's, even a few days afterwards. That's just a glitch I guess. **

**A mistake that I corrected in a past chapeter: "Sheet of pencil." I corrected that six million times in the last week...soooo...****if anyone knows of a really really super awesome Beta who would like to take on my story should let me know! **

**I don't own Hunger Games. Happy reading.**

**Chapter 6.**

Every day Peeta is brought to his old quarters after his nigthly sessions. All he is able to do is sleep. I feed him food and make him sip on water. Usually he can't keep anything down, so I focus on coating the burn cream I stole from a supply closet that I was re-stocking onto his stomach and back. I also clean his cuts with soap and water.

At night, when Darius and I shuffle back to our room, Peeta is transferred to the room behind our cement. I had begun to wonder about that. Isn't cement sound proof? Or was it possible that humans can project such loud noises when provoked to an extreme. It almost seemed as if some sort of sound projector was placed so specifically that we were intended to hear everything that went on behind it.

When coherent, Peeta mumbles about what they are doing to them. I pretend I can't understand him. I nod, and either try to coax more food or water into him and tell him everything will be alright.

For nine days this goes on. My mind grows fuzzy from lack of sleep, headaches occur often and I can't seem to remember which stolen ointments are used for burns and which ones are for cuts.

A camera caught my stealing from a stock closet, and the blonde woman from interrogation publicly humiliated and punished me personally. She had me stand on a steel block in front of all the prisoners in the ward as she made fun of my inability to speak and did things to provoke my guttural moans and cries of pain.

On the tenth evening, after Peeta finished a bowl of chicken noodle soup, the peacekeepers entered to take him away. Except when they got here, they were accompanied by his stylist team. Peeta sat up in bed.

"Don't tell me, I have to give another interview."

Portia answers, "Just a short one later tonight." Her voice shakes when she says this, under eyes are purple bruises and a few cuts on her cheeks.

Peeta tries to stand up, but after a few minutes of struggeling to bend his knees, I rush over and help him lean on my shoulders. Portia asks for a painkiller to give Peeta to get him through the night. I think Portia sneaks one of the tiny orange pills, but I can't be sure.

Next, Portia and her team try to make Peeta look beautiful again, but they fail terribly. Portia's team is out of sorts, some are openly shaking and crying, and the bags under Peeta's eyes make him look like an old man.

Then who should enter Peeta's quarters, but Scary Woman herself. I'm in such a desperate mood, I want to hiss at her and claw her face off. She grips a clipboard firmly in her hand and looks at her watch several times.

"We've got no time, hurry, it's a live show, you good for nothing pieces of-"

"The kid can hardly stand!" Portia interupts her. "What do you expect after what he's been through."

"I can do it. I'm ready, lets go." Peeta speaks up after an hour of silence.

He suddenly works up a large pool of strength that comes bubbling to the surface of his muscles and even though it makes him catch his breath and wince. He manages to shuffle out of the room. I begin to follow him out, but Scary Woman holds up her hand in my face.

"All Avox scum are to stay in the Ground and _get to work._" Apparently she's still upset about Portia's interruption, given that on the way out she rams her shoulder into Portia's, knocking her into the wall, and given Portia's week condition, making her collapse onto the ground.

I didn't do anything, I just stood there and watched as Portia struggled to stand again. Actually, nobody helped her but one. I watched as Peeta, a severely injured person, bent over and lent her his hand.

And there stood two crippled people, with pain in their eyes, gasping and praying for a way out of this hell, working together towards one goal. And that's when I realized what a selfless person Peeta was. How good. How kind.

I no longer was protecting Peeta for Katniss, now I was protecting Peeta for Peeta. I was watching over a person who deserved to be helped because _he _deserved it.

I snap to and rush over to steady Portia, and then they're gone. Probably to the first floor of the mansion so Caesar Flickerman doesn't have to go down too many stairs to do his broadcast.

I begin to look around Peeta's empty quarters. It's dead quiet.

Nope. No way I was staying here.

I go find a room with a television that I could clean. And before I know it, a tv special with featuring peeta slaps itself onto the screen.

Caesar looks exactly like he has for years, but the difference between the Peeta on the screen in front of me and the Peeta a week and a half ago is a great one. I wonder if Katniss is watching in Thirteen. If she is in thirteen. If there is a thirteen, although I'm pretty sure there is.

"_Hello again, Peeta, good to see you." _

_Peeta nods. "And you."_

_"Let's get right down to the point. You are aware that Katniss Everdeen is filming propos for the rebels?"_

Is he aware? I wasn't. Does Peeta watch television during the day when he's recovering and I'm cleaning the prisons?

_"They're using her, obviously," says Peeta. "To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even really knows what's going on in the war. What's at stake."_

_"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?" asks Caesar. _

_"There is," Peeta says plainly. _He looks directly into the camera, right into my eyes, but I know he's really looking at Katniss.

_"Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know whats going on? And if you don't...find out." _

And that's it. Show over.

I wait a few hours before I head back to Peeta's Quarters. I find him sleeping, obviously the interview tired him. Or maybe he was just thinking of Katniss, and it made his heart hurt.

He obviously has seen Katniss's propos, since he answered Caesar's question so smoothly. It makes sense really, before his nightly sessions, what did he have to do before besides sit around all day?

I can only imagine his reaction when seeing Katniss herself suddenly appear on the tv screen. Maybe he rushed to the television and stared at her with wide eyes. Maybe he yelled and stopped whatever he was doing to run and turn up the volume.

Thinking of his reaction made me remember something. I had been cleaning the kitchen counters with a rag while Peeta was sketching on napkin and keeping the television on low in case something about the war came up. I had suddenly heard a small object hit the floor, and then the sound of something metal scuff the floor.

I hadn't known what it was, at the time I guess I told myself that it was something on the news.

It suddenly hits me now that the sound of metal scuffing on the floor might have been Peeta jumping to his feet, the small object falling the pencil he was drawing with. Was that when he saw a propo with Katniss?

If so, I think thats impressive. I would have started jumping up and down or screaming if I had seen my equivalent of Katniss on a television. Maybe quiet surprise is a trait learned in the arena.

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><p>That night, I lay on my cot with my eyes wide open. Darius is awake too; I can always tell because his cot is just a few inches away from mine. I feel his cot creek as he reaches over and strokes my head with his hand. He knows I'm worried. This gesture means "<em>SShhh. We'll get out of here once the kid is dead."<em>

Darius did actually say this. Well, he signed it.

I had begun pacing our cement room because they had taken our pillows away. So he had come up behind me and wrapped his arms around my torso. Then he raised his hand in front of my face and told me that he still believed we could survive the Ground and hoped we'd go work for a some rich man outside of the Capitol afterwards.

Darius honestly believed we would get out of here. Did I?

No.

We'll be killed for sure. Tortured. Probably in front of Peeta.

Darius strokes my hair for a while, until eventually he falls asleep, his hand still on my head. I gently place it back onto his cot.

Before I can fall asleep, our cement door bangs open with a hurried slam.


	7. Final Chapter

Chapter 7.

They are killing me. They are swiping my life off the slate of reality, cutting my thread, and snapping my spinal cord till its fluid drips out.

I am the dead. Darius is the dead. Peeta Mellark is the dead.

The love of my life became the dead a long time ago.

And Katniss Everdeen? She is the living, who wishes she were the dead.

I watched them scoop out Portia's heart with a spoon. A spoon. A spoon. A spoon. A spoon. A spoon.

I think my head is twisted, its being loosened and modified by the capitol.

They are torturing me with forks. And spoons and knives.

What is wrong with me?

Why can't I think straight?

"No more!" I scream at them.

I screamed that? I formed the words? I did! They fixed my speech!

"Oh Capitol! Thank you!" How could the capitol be so kind to me? Didn't they just kill Portia?

" I can't understand you, pussycat. You've got no tongue! Bahaha!"

_What? _

Oh. They didn't give me a new tongue. It was all in my head.

Oh yes. After they dragged Darius and I into our seperate cells, they stuck an IV into each of our arms. They were pumping something white and very chemical into our bloodstream.

Darius was whistling and humming, sighing as if seeing something beautiful.

Hallucinations. That's what these are.

I can't focus. My heart wants to leap out of my chest. My hands won't stop shaking, my limbs feel like running, I feel like dancing and sleeping at the same time. The urge to sleep. I need to move, to stretch my muscles, sprint for miles and miles.

I am drugged. It's almost an ecstacy, but the sense of having no control over anything makes it a terrible experience. That's what I hate the most;losing control.

Darius seems to be enjoying himself. This is strange. I had heard of street drugs in the capitol. My own brother succumbed to them when he turned seventeen, but this drug is so strange. Why would people ever like this?

Is this supposed to be some kind of torture? It's uncomfortable and strangely addictive, but its no where near torture. Well, Portia's death was horrid, or did I imagine that?

I find that as time passes, my head slowly stops spinning, and Darius's whistling loses its sambar.

And then it's awful. Terrible. I feel the need to feel a high again, a high I didn't think much of in the first place, but still I crave the stupid crest. How degrading.

It isn't until I hear Portia crying in the next cell that I realize her tantalizing death with spoons was a faux. Did I really make that up? Is this what they call Hi-Jacking? The vision of Portia didn't scare me. I didn't feel excessive torture out of what I saw. I predicted we would all die, it wasn't a surprise to see what I thought I saw.

I also thought I heard myself talk, but that was false as well. If this is Hi-Jacking, it's a poor version of corruption and torture.

I hope it doesn't get worse than this.

But then, when have my dreams ever come true?

They leave us alone for a few hours, but they don't leave the others in peace. Peeta is in the closest interrogation room. I can hear him screaming. One by one, they lead the prisoners( his prep team) into the room and murder them in front of him.

I wait for my turn to die.

Darius and I are in adjacent seperate cells. When his induced high is completely gone, he starts to moan. Because he knows this is it.

I don't cry. I can't remember how. I think about what Darius said about us escaping this place, and I can't help quietly laughing at how naive and stupid we were to have that thought ever cross our minds.

I sit with my knees tucked into my chest. I realize that I am naked. My hair is chopped short and my body is covered in bruises. I don't remember either events. I must have been drugged when it happened.

I stare ahead of me into the eyes of the guard patroling the prison ward. My eyes show off despair. I try to make him feel guilt, but his face is impassive. Everyone in the capitol is a monster.

Then I travel into my daydreams. Ever since I was small I had been able to shut off my mind and pretend I'm someplace else. I remember scaring my mother with my tendancy to fall asleep with my eyes open. It had always been a strange thing I did.

So now, instead of a dingy cell and a guiltless guard, I see a forest. A thriving palace of life that seemed to reflect a human's true element. Living in the city my whole life, entering the forest for the first time was life changing. It was not a cool blue shade of nailpolish that I had worn in high school, nor was it a color a friend had dyed their hair with. It was not that kind of beauty.

It was not a precise wonder either, it was infact the opposite. All things were in a state of wonderful havoc, but but somehow immune to corruption. The leaves in the trees were not perfectly hung, the flowers dotted the meadows held no pattern at all. The rivers flowed wherever gravity pulled them. The colors were not at all that bright as I had seen them in my city, they were more organic. Small mammals I had never seen before were playing in grasses, sunlight shone through leaves, displaying their veins, and the forest had a song given by the birds that held so many different melodies it turned into one great symphony.

I remember thinking _'This is true beauty'_. This was the air that my lungs hungered, these were the smells that my nose followed, my blood flowed quicker during my time traveling through an unbeaten trail. With my love holding my hand, my feet grew tough and learned to swiftly carry me through the briar.

Our demise lay soon on the horizon, his death not too far away, my fall so soon, but hope was alive on our tongues and my happiness was so strong it crushed my breast. It had been few months after we had escaped from our city, our supplies had not yet run short, and a smile still played on his lips every time he touched me.

I am snapped out of my stupor at the sound of metal wheels rolling down the center of the prison mile. A female peacekeeper wearing a mask over her nose and mouth was pushing an I.V. cart with clear liquid. There were many bags of the liquid, all clearly labeled with the black letters **:Tracker Jacker Venom**.

So this was when it would all start for Peeta. He would be poisoned and somehow corrupted. I try to think of a way that the Capitol could break Katniss using Peeta. The only thing that I can come up with is either killing him off completely, or somehow turning him against her. I don't know how the capitol could possibly do the latter, but if I know the Capitol, against all odds, they will achieve the foulest of tragedies.

This is what moves me to act.

Though I am naked, I turn attention to me by screaming and thrashing at the lady with the I.V. cart heading towards Peeta's interrogation room.

She jumps at my sudden outburst, and stares at me. I point to the I.V. like it's something that I want.

I try to bend my lips enough to form words. "Ive ma aaa!" _Give me that!_

That just freaks her out and she starts to hurridly push the cart away.

"Waa!" I cry. _Wait!_

I try harder. I begin to throw myself around the cell. Bruising my bones and quelching all the anger that has been locked up inside me.

She stops again, and this time she falls for it.

She addresses the guard at the end of the prison walkway and points to me.

"Something is wrong with that traitor."

The peacekeeper just shrugs. "What do you want me to do about it?"

I moan louder and throw myself at the metal bar, smashing my face into the steel.

"Well, knock her out! She's bothering me! Give her, I don't know, some kind of pill!"

"Hey, your the one with the drugs lady."

"I order you to shut her up this moment! She's making rude gestures at me!"

Darius stirs in the next cell over. His eyeballs blink open and they settle on me. I ignore him.

"Alright, Alright, I've got the key, I'll hold her down, You'll shoot her up with some sleep syrup."

"Well I haven't got-." But she stops herself and pretends she didn't say anything.

He walks towards her and rummages through his ring of keys and unlocks my prison cell door. When he enters I run at him but he crushes me with his strong arms and digs his fingernails into my skin. I go limp as the woman fills a shot full of the clear liquid. The peacekeeper carries me over towards the cart. She grabs my arm and stretches it out its full length.

She aims it towards a vein.

This is when I jam my heel into the peacekeepers groin area and kick my legs and twist out of my grip. I purposefully topple onto the cart and rip open all the bags of tracker jacker venom with my teeth. Some gets on my tongue.

But at least it isn't anywhere near Peeta.

The woman screams.

"You insolent! You vile! How dare you! Kill her! Kill her now!" She tries to slap me, but I dodge away and go back to ripping open the I.V. bags.

The peacekeeper is still in the fetal position from my deadly aimed kick.

"Get up! Get up! She's spilling all of my chemical!"

The peacekeeper moans. "You little whore."

I push the cart over and cause some of the plastic bags to break open and spill over onto the floor.

I don't stop until all of the liquid from hell is gone.

And that's when the floor begins to melt away, welding my feet into it. A pain shoots through me and I desperately try to wrench my feet away from the molten floor.

I fall over onto my bottom and the metal lava burns my skin.

All of the people around me begin to melt into a great soup.

I can hear someone yelling. Thankfully someone grabs me by my arms and pulls me out of the sea of liquid metal and pulls me into the interrogation where Peeta is.

Peeta! He's not melting! Why is he not melting like everybody else?

He's dying though. I can see it.

Then, I only see night with images that that clench my stomach.

_This_ is hi-jacking.

An hour passes, and Peeta and Darius watch me thrash in my chair with wide, terrified eyes. Darius is crying. Peeta is defeated.

Then the images of carnage and melting people disappear. As I take in my surroundings, my legs stop thrashing, and my guttural moaning stops.

Suddenly the lights go off, and I can see nothing, but I can still feel Peeta and Darius' breathing in the chairs next to me.

Then they flip them back on again, and we are surrounded by people with weapons.

I look Peeta in the eye. His pupils are dialated in fright and not because of a poison. My death is worth his saving. I smile, I try to make it as kind as possible, but the venom is still in me, and my mouth and tongue are swelling so bad, it makes me look crazy.

Another woman in a mask enters, with a new cart of Hi-jacking venom.

Of course they had more venom. How could I be so stupid? My attempts were useless. Peeta will still be high-jacked. And now Darius and I will die for my foolishness.

My heart is going too fast. Suddenly one of the men with a gun points it at my head.

"You and your partner will now die because of what you have wasted. Avox's are to be rarely seen and never heard. And now you will be punished."

He pulls his gun away and turns towards a table in the corner of the interrogation room that I had not noticed before.

On it is a contraption with wires hooked up to it. I follow the wires with my eyes and see that they lead to mine and Darius' chairs.

He flips a switch, and presses down on another a red button.

I make sure I look Peeta in the eye one last time. This time my eyes say, "_I'm sorry."_ And I think for just a one second, he understands. He understands this whole time what I have been doing. He knows from my nursing him of his injuries, from my incessive watching over of him, that he knows that I was fighting for his life.

I am sorry Peeta. I will not be able to save you.

And then the chair feels like it had burst into flames.

I am frozen, and all I see is white.

And then suddenly, I am in that forest again, the one with the air and the trees, and rivers. The one I love is there, and he is smiling.

**The end.**

Review! What do you think? Any ideas on a new story? I've been thinking a story on how Peeta and Katniss grow back together, what do you think?


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